


never really found, or really lost my way

by dont_you_cry



Series: held on when you pulled away [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst (not really but), Deaf Clint Barton, Fluff, M/M, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Panic Attacks, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Black Panther (2018), there's no farm family sorry farm family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 10:01:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19207105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dont_you_cry/pseuds/dont_you_cry
Summary: Clint gets taken off house arrest to be put on Bucky babysitting duty. They get to know each other.





	never really found, or really lost my way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bananamuffin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananamuffin/gifts).



> hello! this is my first attempt at writing winterhawk and there's so many amazing winterhawk fics on here so i'm a bit nervous posting this, but i hope i did them justice! i couldn't get the idea of bucky and clint hanging out in wakanda while steve and natasha were off doing..whatever it was they did...and so this fic happened from it! i hope you enjoy :)
> 
> p.s. apologies for any typos!

Oh shit.

That’s all that runs through Clint’s mind when he swings his front door open to find Nick Fury standing on his porch. Clint’s hair is a mess, he hasn’t brushed his hair or his teeth yet and he’s pretty sure he’s been wearing the same pair sweatpants far longer than is socially acceptable. In his defense, being on house arrest at his farm with no one but Lucky to keep him company didn’t really inspire him to put any effort into his appearance but, hell. He sort of wishes he didn’t look like complete shit in front of his former (or maybe current? The whole outcome of the “civil war” fight at the airport was still unclear to him) boss because, despite the planned retirement, you really don’t want to give Nick Fury a reason to feel any more disappointed than he was by default.

Before Clint can even clear his throat to develop a semblance of a professional greeting Fury is already talking.

“Agent Barton,” he starts. “Glad to see house arrest is treating you well.” He looks Clint up and down and Clint wishes he could slam the door and go back to bed because fuck _, whatever made Fury show up on his doorstep CAN’T possibly be good_ and instead gives a smile that’s more of a cross between a cringe and grimace.

“Uh not really an agent anymore, I don’t think,” he says in response. “Y’know, retirement and all that.”

Fury gives him the Look that says he’s calling bullshit on that statement and isn’t even going to dignify it with a response. He says nothing back and continues to stare.

“Okay okay, well if you’re referring to the whole thing at the airport and all that,” he rambles. “You can’t possibly think that’s MY fault, Captain America calls me up and says he needs my help! How am I supposed to say no to that!” 

Clint stops talking when Fury finally looks away and Clint knows from years of first-hand experience that it means he’s stopped listening. He instead decides to take the direct route because if Fury isn’t there to talk about the reason he’s got an ankle monitor strapped to his body, there might actually be something more interesting than another Dog Cops marathon about to happen for him. 

“Someone’s on the line for you,” Fury says and tosses a StarkTech phone in Clint’s general direction. Clint grabs it midfall (his reflexes are off when he’s had fewer than four cups of coffee, okay) and stares at it before lifting it up to his ear.

“Uh, hullo?” he begins. “Who’s got enough power over Fury to send him to be my very own personal phone service?”

Fury gives him another Look before walking across the porch and bending down to pet Lucky, who’s been laying on his bed in the sun, ignoring the two of them.

Clint turns his back to them and nearly drops the phone when he hears Natasha’s voice on the other end.

“He still owed me for faking his death back in D.C. and I finally cashed in,” she replies dryly. “Nice to hear from you too, Clint.”

Clint’s breath leaves him in a huff and he’s immediately angry. 

“Don’t pull that shit with me Nat,” he growls into the phone, in Russian to give himself the idea of privacy. “I haven’t heard from you in six MONTHS. The last time we went this long without contact I had thought you were...”

He cuts himself off. She knows what he’s referring to and he’s not going to make himself relieve the pain he felt those years ago when he was sure he’d lost her for good. 

Natasha stays quiet, waiting for Clint to slow his breathing.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he says, this time in English. “You are, right? You are okay? Don’t lie to me, not now.”

“I'm fine,” she replies. “I’m with Steve, we’re off grid.”

Clint huffs out another breath of relief. He knows she’s telling the truth and he’s glad she’s stuck with Steve instead of running off alone.

“I don’t have long to talk, but we do have a favor to ask,” she continues.

His responding laugh is only slightly less bitter than the coffee he drank that morning.

“Nat, the last favor Cap asked me for started with us fighting each other and ended with me first in prison and then trapped at home in an ankle monitor,” he says, staring down at his feet. “What could you guys possibly want this time?”

“Steve’s worried about Bucky,” she responds. “He’s hoping you would be willing to go and check on him.”

Clint is first confused and then more confused and then even more confused. He assumed Steve wouldn’t have let Bucky out of his sight after fighting literally half of his superhero friends and says as much to Natasha.

“Look, it’s complicated. Nick can explain,” she says and Clint sends a skeptical look in the man’s direction. Fury is still petting Lucky and Clint’s pretty sure he’s heard some baby talk that he’s sure both he and Fury will never admit to.

“Can you please do this for Steve? For me?”

Clint sighs. “How am I even supposed to Nat? I’m on house arrest for cryin’ out loud! And I was taking advantage of it, I got the farm all fixed up and I added on to the range! I’m supposed to be retired!”

Natasha hums in response. “Which is why you’re the perfect man for the job, Clint. And this isn’t Avengers business, this is strictly _friends_ business.”

His responding snort is quickly followed by Nat saying one word he hadn’t been expecting to hear, maybe ever again.

“Budapest.”

“Aw no, Budapest no!” Clint whines down the phone.

“Yep. I didn’t want to do it, but I’m calling Budapest. Speak when I can,” she replies and hangs up. 

As quickly as the call started, it’s over and Clint’s left staring at the phone screen in disbelief.

* * *

 

Fury fills Clint in on the details from there.

He leaves Lucky at the Bishop’s next-door with their daughter Kate. He knows Lucky is in good hands—Kate’s threatened to steal him once a week and twice on Sunday’s since he’s been on house arrest.

And oh yeah, he’s off house arrest now. Fury called it “good behavior” while Clint called it “bribery” and possibly “treason,” but he doesn’t really have a problem cheating the government so ‘f _uck it’_ he thinks.

Fury leaves him a quinjet to fly to Wakanda of all places. Clint was sure he was joking and said as such to Fury’s face.

“King T’Challa was on Tony’s side!” he yells at Fury. “I’m not even gonna be allowed in the country!”

Fury is unimpressed and obviously annoyed by merely being in Clint’s presence and explains the circumstances. 

That’s how Clint finds himself off house arrest and taking a secret mission to Wakanda. He lands the quinjet and takes the time to breathe while looking at the beautiful surroundings. He’s pretty sure he saw a herd of rhinos on the way down and his plot to try and ride one is already coming together in his mind.

First, he finds himself greeted by King T’Challa and T’Challa’s sister who introduces herself as Shuri.

“I wanted to make another white boy joke but my brother said I hit my quota for the year when Ross was here,” is the first thing out of her mouth. 

T’Challa gives Clint an embarrassed look and runs his hand across his forehead. “Shuri...” he says, tone full of warning and slight exasperation.

Clint laughs, eyes crinkling up at the corners. “I would’ve been honored. I’m almost bummed you didn’t. Insults are forms of compliments back home.” 

“Please ignore her,” T’Challa says. “Welcome to Wakanda.”

Clint takes another look around still in awe of being somewhere he never dreamed of visiting. He used to do back in his SHIELD agent days with Natasha and feels a pang of hurt.

He directs his attention back at T’Challa and smiles, reaching his hand out to shake.

“Thanks for having me,” he replies. “I hope it’s not an inconvenience, Fury said Steve cleared it with you? Oh and Fury also said I don’t need to bow, but was he lying? Do I need to bow? I’m sorry, I’ll bow—.”

Clint is cut off by the sounds of Shuri’s loud laughter and even sees T’Challa trying to keep a straight face.

“Right. Okay, so no bowing. Got it.” 

T’Challa takes pity on him, leading Clint into the palace. 

“No, there’s no need to bow to either of us,” he informs. “And having you here is no trouble, we’re hoping you’ll be of service and for that, I should thank you.”

Clint gives a skeptical look at that. He can’t imagine what kind of help he’s going to be. The Winter Soldier—Barnes as Fury was calling him—is a total mystery to him outside of the SHIELD files he’s read and the few bits of information Steve shared before the whole showdown.

He tries to form some kind of reassuring look that he’s sure doesn’t look too convincing and continues to follow T’Challa and Shuri to the room where he’ll be staying. 

When they reach their destination he’s pleased to find it’s a private suite, living room and all.

“Let us know if you need anything,” T’Challa tells him. “We can acquire whatever it is you need.”

“I’m a simple man,” Clint replies. “My one would request would be coffee and lots of it.”

“That can be arranged,” T’Challa says. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I have other matters to tend to.”

“Oh, shit yeah, of course, sorry to take up your time,” Clint says.

“It was no trouble,” T’Challa reassures him. “I’m only sorry to be leaving you alone with her,” tipping his head in Shuri’s direction. 

Shuri makes an offended noise in protest.

“This is why I continue to prank you, dear brother,” she responds. “Keep an eye out on the next redesigns of your suit.”

Clint drops his bag on the floor, still looking around the room. He looks forward to checking out the bed and taking a long nap first chance he can get.

Shuri clears her throat to get Clint’s attention. He’s surprised when she begins signing at him.

She acknowledges it. “My mother and brother can sign too. My father insisted. I don’t have many opportunities to use it, but I know my brother does during missions quite often.”

Clint snorts and signs back. “Cap wanted everyone to learn so we could all talk if our comms went down. Something bad almost happened once and.” He stops, shrugs and looks away.

“Have you ever considered having them permanently implanted?” she asks, speaking now.

“No,” he says back quickly, voice hard. “I couldn’t do that.”

Shuri nods and gives him a small smile. “Of course, only a thought I had.” She changes the subject.

“We’re going to pull Barnes out of cryogenic sleep  later this evening, will you join us?”

Clint nods.

“I’ll come to get you when we’re ready,” Shuri says simply and walks out the room.

Despite tossing around for over an hour with his mind’s racing thoughts, Clint manages to squeeze in a 90-minute nap and eats dinner before Shuri comes back for him.

She takes him through a few winding hallways until they reach a lab that even Tony would be jealous of. The walls are made of glass and through it, he can see more of the beautiful Wakandan nature along with an almost comically large panther statue.

“So. He really, _really_ likes cats,” Clint jokes.

Shuri shoots him a dirty look. “None of you are as funny as you think you are.”

“Nat says that all the time,” Clint whines. “There’s no way I’m not funny. I was in the circus!”

She makes a face at that before walking over to a set of screens where she begins tapping at the information there. She talks to the other technicians in the room, using medical terms and concepts Clint doesn’t attempt to understand.

He shifts back on his heels and looks around awkwardly, not knowing what to do. He figures he may as well ask if he’s meant to be of any help.

“So,” he starts. All eyes turn to look at him. “What am I supposed to be doing here?”

“We’re hoping you’d be a familiar face.” She rolls her eyes. “It would be easier if Captain Rogers was here but.” She trails off.

Clint’s eyes widen in disbelief. “I don’t even know the guy! We met _once_ and even then it’s not like we were properly introduced. Shit, this is a mess.”

Shuri’s gone back to typing on the screen. “We don’t want to keep him under for a longer period than is necessary,” she says quietly. “It is not fair to him and I won’t do it.”

Clint can’t—won’t—argue against that. He swallows back the memory of Loki’s scepter, the memory that’s been creeping up on him since he first set foot in Wakanda, and nods.

“Okay,” he nods again. “Can you tell me how it’s gonna work at least? In basic terms?”

“We’re going to reverse the freezing process and then slowly raise his internal body temperature. He should wake up fairly quickly once that’s done. He might be disoriented, we won’t know if our methods have worked until he’s awake and can speak to us.”

When Clint doesn’t respond she taps a few buttons on the monitor and the machine holding Barnes begins to slowly release pressurized air.

Shuri walks over to him. “If you’d like to leave, I’ll understand.”

Clint quickly shakes his head. He still doesn’t think he’s the best person for the job, but he feels a sense of responsibility. Guilt would settle deep in his belly if he walked away now. 

She smiles. “Okay,” she responds and walks back towards the machine.

Barnes is laying on a medical table, not hooked to any machines as Clint expected. His eyes are closed, chest rising as he breathes. If Clint didn’t know better he’d assume Barnes was just asleep. He does know better and the second he turns to Shuri to ask when Barnes will wake up he gets his answer.

Barnes moves quickly, body jerking into a seated position. His eyes track around the room, searching for threats Clint assumes. His body begins to relax once he’s completed a sweep of the lab.

Shuri begins talking to him, asking basic questions.

What’s your name? _James Buchanan Barnes._

Do you know where you are? _Wakanda. Steve brought me here._

Do you remember what you were doing before he brought you here? _Trying to find the other Winter Soldiers like me._

Do you still think you’re The Winter Soldier?

Barnes doesn’t answer her final question, his eyes sweeping around the room again. This time his gaze focuses on Clint.

“Uh, hey,” Clint says and gives a small wave.

“I know you,” Barnes says, voice raspy from disuse. 

“Yeah, yeah! We met once, my name’s Cli—” 

“Hawkeye. The archer. You have the arrows.”

“Er, yeah that’s right. But uh, my name’s actually Clint. Please call me Clint.”

Bucky merely blinks in response before dropping his eyes back to the floor.

Clint shoots a “say something” look in Shuri’s direction and she moves to stand next to Barnes. He tracks how she takes care to stay in Barnes’ full view without encroaching on his space and appreciates it, though he’s not exactly sure why.

“I need to run a few more tests,” she says, looking uncomfortable. “I need to make sure the process to extract HYDRA from your mind worked completely.”

Barnes tenses up, his entire body going rigid.

“Fine,” he spits out through clenched teeth. “But you’re not puttin’ a damn arm back on and he,” Barnes jerks his head over in Clint’s direction, “doesn’t get to stay.”

Clint blinks and shifts uncomfortably. “Uh, yeah sure, of course, I’ll get out of here. I’ll just...go find something else to do.” 

He strides quickly out of the lab, but not fast enough to miss the beginning of Barnes’ screams.

* * *

Shuri finds him a few hours later, sitting on the edge of the balcony he’d already unofficially claimed as his own. It gave him a good vantage point of the grounds and well, old habits die hard. It was also a great place to watch the sunset and Clint savored the peace that came with this time of day.

He’d thought he’d done a better job suppressing the fear and anger he’d harbored over what Loki had done to him, but hearing Barnes’ pain brought all those emotions rushing back to the surface.  Shuri’s comments about permanently attaching his hearing aids had already put him in a negative headspace, the combination of the two is incredibly overwhelming.

“He’s resting now. He’ll probably sleep through tomorrow,” Shuri says calmly. “The process worked. The hold they had on him is gone.” 

Clint hums in response, not wanting to be rude but not really up for a conversation either. Shuri seems to understand and turns to leave.

“His room is down the hall from yours,” she says over her shoulder. “Maybe you can check on him once in a while, yeah?”

Clint nods in agreement. He doesn’t exactly  _want_ to, but Steve and Nat had asked him to come for a specific reason and he wasn’t going to back down now.

After spending another 15 minutes on his perch, he travels back to his room and heads straight for the bed. 

The nightmares come back. 

* * *

He wakes the next morning exhausted. He floats about the palace with no plans in mind. He doesn’t expect to see Barnes today and feels a twinge of regret when the thought gives him a sigh of relief.

Clint heads straight to the coffee maker on the counter in the kitchenette in his suite. He finds a sticky note on a bag of coffee sitting next to the machine.

It reads  _Special blend just for you :) - Shuri._ She even drew a little arrow, too.

Clint looks at the coffee dubiously now. He’s already recognized she has a tendency to joke and prank and can’t help but wonder what she means by “special.”

In the end, his desperate need for caffeine wins out over his trepidation and he scoops some into the coffee maker. While he waits for it to brew he grabs an apple and his phone. Taking a large bite he opens up his messages app to see if anything important has come through.

There’s a photo of Lucky from Kate that gets Clint to crack a small smile. He sends her back a couple of emojis and pours himself a cup of coffee.

He takes a tentative sip and “holy shit, that’s good.” He burns his tongue on his second gulp, but can’t even bring himself to care. Turning his attention back to his phone he scrolls, searching for a message from Nat and finding none. He tries to not let that bother him.

He goes looking for Shuri or T’Challa a few hours later, hoping to find out if there’s a range where he can spend some time shooting. It also gives him a chance to explore a bit more and keeps his mind busy on anything but the nightmares.

He finds T’Challa first and quickly asks about a range, not wanting to waste the man’s time. T’Challa not only tells him there’s a range—already outfitted with targets for archery—and he’ll show him the way personally.

Clint follows T’Challa toward the back of the palace and outside where the land stretches as far as he can see. There are rhinoceroses out here as well and he remembers his plan to try and ride one. T’Challa picks up on Clint’s sudden shift in mood and laughs. 

“Yes, you can ride one but another time. Not today.”

Clint fakes a pout and then smiles, a real one this time.

T’Challa takes him over to the range and Clint immediately feels more at home.

He spends almost three hours shooting at various targets. He pushes himself, testing how far he can shoot and the number of arrows he can shoot at a time (180 meters and five, not too shabby Barton). When he finally calls it quits he’s exhausted and hopeful sleep will be peaceful for him tonight.

It’s not.

It feels like only minutes have passed since his head hit the pillow, though it must have been at least three hours when he wakes up gasping for air.

Clint desperately tries to get air into his lungs but feels like he’s sucking through a straw submerged in honey. He can’t get enough in and the very act is as suffocating and oppressive as the lack of breath. It’s not until he can force his eyes open that he realizes he’s not alone in his room.

He flicks on the bedside lamp to find Barnes standing at the foot of his bed.

“Jesus Christ,” Clint breathes. “Don’t sneak up on a guy like that when he’s sleeping.”

Bucky mumbles something. Clint can see his lips moving but can’t make out the words.

“Either look at me while ya talk so I can read your lips or stop talking for a second. I don’t have my aids in.” 

When it doesn’t look like Bucky is going to repeat what he said in a way that Clint can understand Clint huffs in annoyance and grabs the aids off the nightstand. He doesn’t say anything else until they’re fitted snugly in his ears.

“Okay,” Clint says. “You wanna repeat that now that I can hear you?”

Bucky remains tense where he stands. “I said,” still mumbling. “You weren’t sleepin’, you were yellin’.”

Clint rubs his hands across his face and groans in frustration.

“Sorry about that,” he whispers back. “If it woke you up. Just a stupid nightmare.”

It wasn’t stupid. While this particular nightmare wasn’t Loki-related, it was just as haunting. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the sight of Pietro’s body in the street. The feeling of the kid slumped in his arms as he carried him. The sound of Wanda’s screams. His mind begins spiraling, bringing back every image vividly to his eyes.

He can feel his breath shortening again and begins the alternate-nostril breathing technique one of the SHIELD therapists taught him after New York.

_Close the right nostril. Breathe in through the left for five. Hold. Close the left nostril. Breathe out for five. Breathe in through the right for five. Hold. Close the right nostril. Breathe out for five. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat._

He goes through this process a number of times until he feels settled enough to breathe normally. When he opens his eyes again he finds Barnes still there.

Barnes squints at him as if he’s trying to figure something out.

“What was that you just did?”

Clint blinks. “Uh, just a breathing technique. It helps me refocus.”

Barnes nods once but doesn’t say anything back.

Clint shifts on the bed, uncomfortable that Barnes has seen him in such a vulnerable state. He figures it’s only fair since he was there when the man was brought out of a month's long frozen nap, but it doesn’t make him any happier about it.

“Thanks for checking on me,” he tells Barnes. It comes out almost like a question. “I’ll try not to bother you again.”

Barnes nods again and turns to leave, understanding that he’s been dismissed. Clint’s aware that he won’t be going back to sleep and realizes he doesn’t want to be left alone.

“Wait,” he says to Barnes’ back. Barnes stops and turns his head to the side, listening.

“Have you ever seen Dog Cops?” 

* * *

That’s how their TV marathons start.

Clint starts them out on Dog Cops because it’s mindless and he’s seen every episode so it’s not anything he really has to pay attention to.

He can tell Barnes starts to lose interest after the fourth episode, but Clint still doesn’t want to be alone so he suggests they watch something else.

“I don’t know,” Barnes shrugs. “No idea what exists these days really.”

Clint snaps his fingers and jumps up causing Barnes to flinch and do the same.

“Woah, hey,” Clint says. “Nothing to worry about. Just had an idea is all.”

He purposely slows his movements as he walks over to the desk sitting in the corner of the room. He looks through the drawers and lets out a sound of triumph when he finds what he’s looking for.

Clint walks back over to the couch and sits down, looking up at Barnes until he copies Clint’s movements. Clint reaches his hand out and passes over the small notebook and pen he’s found.

“Steve carried something like this around,” he tells Barnes. “Used to write down things he wanted to look up. Music, TV shows, movies. Stuff like that.”

Barnes picks up the pen and flicks the notebook open. His hair falls to either side of his face as he leans over, pen poised to write but nothing coming. He lets out a noise of frustration.

“No idea what exists these days really,” he repeats.

Clint’s eager to share his suggestions.

“There’s Star Wars and Star Trek if you’re into space stuff. There’s this series called Fast and Furious that started out with racing cars and now they do heists? It’s cool though, put it on the list. I personally think everyone should have a reality show they watch. Nat likes Real Housewives. Nothing better than reminding yourself how stupid other people can be.”

He stops talking when he realizes Barnes hasn’t written anything down.

“What’s reality TV?”

Clint launches into an explanation that he can tell Barnes only halfway understands.

“It’ll make more sense once you’ve seen a few episodes,” he adds, queuing up season one of Vanderpump Rules.

Two episodes in Barnes speaks up. “So, they get their lives filmed but none of it’s real? The Jax guy actually isn’t that awful?”

Clint hums. “Basically, yeah. But Jax IS that awful, that part is reality.”

When the episode is over Clint notices the sun’s come up and his stomach growls, letting him know it’s breakfast time.

“Hey, do you wanna take a break and go get something to eat?” he asks. “I’m starving.”

Barnes hesitates. He bites his lip and looks away from Clint.

“We can grab something and bring it back here,” Clint suggests quickly. The idea actually sounds a lot more appealing to Clint and he hopes Barnes says yes.

When Barnes nods Clint stands and stretches, pulling his arms above his head. He looks down at Barnes, considering the pajamas the man is wearing.

“Lemme go grab you a hoodie,” he offers. “Be right back.”

He makes his way to the bedroom and tugs his duffle bag onto the bed and rifles through it. He throws a sweatshirt over his head and grabs a zip-up version for Barnes. Both of them are purple, of course.

When Clint turns around he finds Barnes standing in the doorway.

“Still not cool to sneak up on people in this time, ya know,” he says sarcastically.

Barnes doesn’t react and continues to stand there, a stressed look on his face.

“Steve’s not coming anytime soon, is he,” Barnes asks. He doesn’t wait for a response before chuckling once, humorless with a bitter edge. “Course he’s not.”

Clint makes a slight desperate noise. “Hey, look Steve would’ve loved to be here when you woke up. It’s just,” he pauses and stares down at the blanket on his bed, picking at it.  “Complicated,” he finishes weakly.

He doesn’t know what else he can say. He doesn’t know what Steve is doing and he’s not even exactly sure why Steve can’t stop by even for an hour, but it’s Steve for cryin’ out loud. If he’s staying away it’s for a reason and Clint’s going to trust him.

Bucky looks resigned. “So he sent you to babysit on his behalf,” he says eventually. “Why you?”

And that’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? Clint figures it’s partly because of what happened at the Battle of New York. The other part would be that if Natasha trusts Clint with her life Steve would have no reservations about trusting Clint with Bucky’s. He thinks those are the main factors, but doesn’t know how to  _say_ it. Not to a practical stranger. He doesn’t talk about himself. Natasha doesn’t even know about the nightmares.

Hell, he figures. Bucky’s seen him in the middle of a nightmare already, he knows Clint has his own shit going on now too.

He starts slowly. “I don’t.” A pause. He starts again. “From what I understand you have a hard time remembering. I have a hard time forgetting. We have more in common than you might think.”

Clint decides that’s enough sharing for now.

“So, that’s why I’m here. For you,” he pauses. “Er, with you. Not for you. WIth you.”

Bucky’s lips twitch in what Clint thinks is maybe an attempt at a smile.

“Also,” Clint smiles ruefully. “Got a bunch of vacation hours racked up. Figured I’d spend ‘em.” 

* * *

They hang out a few more times over the next few days, plowing through the first three seasons of Vanderpump Rules.

Bucky decides that Ariana, Sandoval, and Stassi are his favorites and Clint praises him for having good taste.

Clint calls him Bucky now after he finally works up the courage to ask.

* * *

Clint suggests they take daily walks. He notices that if Bucky is inside for too long he gets restless so he adds it into their routine. Most days Bucky joins him easily and they walk across the grounds or through the forests in easy silence. On the days Bucky refuses the walks Clint lets him stay wrapped in a blanket on his couch, letting Bucky catch up on the hours of sleep that evade him at night.

Clint hasn’t had a nightmare in over a week, but he knows Bucky’s come frequently each night. Bucky’s never talked about them and Clint is never sure how to broach the subject. He settles for trying to offer whatever sense of peace he can during the day.

One morning he wakes to find Bucky already on his couch with the TV is on. The volume is so low that Clint can hardly hear, but it’s clear Bucky isn’t paying any attention anyway.

His back is ramrod straight, jaw clenched tightly, eyes unfocused. Clint can’t even tell if he’s breathing.

“Bucky,” he starts softly. No response.

“Hey Bucky,” he tries again, coming to sit on the coffee table in front of him.

Bucky’s eyes finally focus on Clint.

“Hey bud,” he says again. “Can you try something for me?”

“Steve?” Bucky asks, voice small.

Clint shakes his head. “No, not Steve. I’m Clint. You’re Bucky. We’re in Wakanda. You’re safe. HYDRA can’t hurt you anymore.”

Bucky doesn’t respond and Clint can tell that his observation was right. Bucky _isn’t_ breathing.

“Can you do something for me?” he tries again. He lifts his hand to his nose and closes one nostril, making a gesture for Bucky to do the same.

Bucky’s eyebrows pinch together in confusion, but he copies Clint’s movements.

“Good,” Clint says. “Now breathe in with me. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Hold that breath in. Switch nostrils and breathe out with me. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Good. Let’s go again.”

Clint takes him through the breathing exercise until the tension finally melts from Bucky’s body.

He heads into the kitchen to start on some coffee before taking a seat next to Bucky on the couch and waiting for him to speak.

“Thank you,” Bucky says quietly, looking down at his lap.

“Of course,” Clint replies. “Try that technique out next time you’re feeling overwhelmed. It works wonders.” Clint tries to not make a big deal out of it, but Bucky being comfortable enough with him to let Clint see him in that state is more meaningful than he thought possible.

He’s not sure how to ask Bucky what the nightmares are about. He can make his own guesses, but wonders if there might be a way he could help if he knew what Bucky was dealing with.

Before Clint can even ask though Bucky speaks up.

“Shuri’s been talkin’ to me about attaching an arm again. She keeps saying all these science words that don’t make sense, but I guess it’s supposed to function better than the last one. And...maybe not hurt so much I guess?” He phrases the last part as a question, unsure.

Clint starts there. “Did the other one hurt a lot?”

Bucky snorts, leans back into the couch and stares up at the ceiling. “If by a lot you mean all the time then yeah. It hurt a lot.”

Clint doesn’t know how to respond, but Bucky keeps talking.

“They didn’t really care what kind of pain I was in as long as I was functional. They had their priorities.” His voice is hard and bitter. Clint can’t blame him.

“Can I ask why you wouldn’t want an upgrade” he chances. “You know, now that you have the whole freedom thing and all.”

Bucky looks down at the empty space where his left arm would be and sighs again.

“Before HYDRA I was a weapon for the army. And then after, even when I lost my arm they found a way to keep using me as a weapon.” He looks up at Clint. “I don’t want to be a weapon anymore.”

Clint can see the pain swimming in Bucky’s eyes and feels the pull to comfort him. He’s unsure what Bucky will allow and slowly takes a seat to Bucky’s right, letting their shoulders bump together.

“I think Shuri just wants everyone to be able to take advantage of what she’s able to do with technology. She was asking about me implanting these in.” He points to his ear.  

“Tony was like that too. I used to let him tweak my aids, he was always trying to add in a bunch of fancy crap I didn’t need. After Loki though, I stopped letting him.”

“Loki?” Bucky asks.

Clint takes a deep breath. He’s going to get the words out. He can do this—both for himself and for Bucky.

“Back in 2012, it was right after they pulled Steve out of the ice. There wasn’t even an “Avengers” at that point. I was working for SHIELD and Loki—he’s a god—came to take over Earth and one of the ways he was gonna accomplish that was through mind control.”

Clint glosses over a lot of the details. He doesn’t remember anything firsthand while Loki had control of his mind, just what he was told after it was over.

“I killed a lot of people that day,” he finishes. “And after that, I couldn’t handle anyone messing around with my head at all. Not even Tony.”

Bucky speaks up. “You know that wasn’t you, right?”

“The same way what you did as the Winter Soldier wasn’t you?” Clint arches an eyebrow and Bucky grimaces.

“We both  _know_. Doesn’t make living through it any easier.” 

* * *

“Shuri told him it would probably take a year,” Bucky says one day out of the blue.

“Hmm?” Clint asks around a mouthful of food. They’re eating lunch, having spent a few hours out on the range.

“The process, for my brain,” Bucky explains. “Shuri told Steve ‘n Widow that it would take her a year to figure out. So whatever it is he’s doing, he thought he’d have more time without me to do it.”

Before Clint can swallow to remind Bucky  _it’s not like that_ , Bucky is already talking again.

“Yeah, yeah I know. ‘ _It’s not like that._ ’ I get it. Doesn’t make it any easier.”

“You might know what it’s like to have someone in your head like me, but he’s the only one who knows what it’s like to have missed out on so many years. I only kinda know what life is like these days.”

Clint nods. “Yeah, I get that. But you know, I can keep showing you things and I’m sure Shuri would make sure you’re well versed in meme culture if you asked.”

“Plus, you’re already well versed in Vanderpump Rules and Dog Cops,” he adds with a grin.

Bucky makes a face. “What the hell is _meme culture_?”

* * *

Clint grows quieter over the next few days, mulling over their last conversation in his mind.

Bucky takes the lead on their outings, making Clint do something different each day.

Clint  _finally_ gets on top of a rhinoceros and it’s just as exhilarating as he expected. He couldn’t help but look over at Bucky the whole time though, who gave Clint the biggest smile he’d ever seen from him.

Clint finds himself wanting to do any and everything to see that look on Bucky’s face again.

One night he finds himself unable to sleep, mind racing. Bucky is asleep in his own room instead of Clint’s couch tonight—something he’s been doing more frequently. He gets up, calling sleep a lost cause and leaves his room to take a walk.

He moves through the halls without purpose and takes each right and left turn at random so he’s surprised when he finds himself outside of Shuri’s lab.

She’s working on something—keeps the same crazy hours Tony did—and waves him inside when she sees him standing there.

“Come to be nosy?” she asks, giving Clint a smile he tries and fails to return.

“Can’t sleep,” he says in response and picks up one of the tools on the table. He starts spinning it around between his fingers just to have something to do.

“And you came to hang out with me instead of Bucky,” she replies. “I’ll be sure to let him know I’ve surpassed him on your list of people to hang out with.”

“Sure sure,” he says back. “Just make sure you tell your brother he’s my number one.”

Shuri shoots him a dirty look before giving in with a laugh. “Touche, Barton.”

“If there’s anything you do want to talk about though, I’m all ears.”

Clint sighs. He doesn’t want to have to explain himself, but no time like the present, he thinks.

“I’m interested in what we talked about a few weeks back.”

“You mean about the..” she trails off, pointing up towards her head.

“Yeah,” Clint says. “I wanna get the implants. If you’re still willing that is.”

“Of course,” she replies softly. “I’d be honored. When would you like to have it done?”

Clint blinks. “You’re not gonna ask what changed my mind?” Tony would’ve asked.

“It’s not really my business, is it? If you’d like to tell me you can, but you don’t have to.”

He shakes his head. “I’m willing to do it whenever you’re ready,” he says. “I’m sure about this.”

“How about now, then?” Shuri suggests. “I’ve got all night.”

He nods and Shuri gets started.

* * *

He wakes the next day with Bucky shaking his shoulders. When Clint opens his eyes it’s to a worried Bucky who immediately thrusts a phone into his face.

“Natasha had Steve tell me to come to see if you were alright,” he explains. “Said you didn’t text her back.”

Clint sits up confused until he realizes it’s dark outside and that he’s slept the entire day away.

“Tell him I’ll give her a call,” he mumbles, reaching over to grab his aids out of habit. He stops short and stills.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asks him. “You don’t think anything bad happened to Nat, right? Cause Steve woulda said if it did.”

“No, no. Nothing’s wrong, bud.” Clint smiles. “I don’t need to put aids in anymore how fuckin’ cool is that!”

Bucky’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion and Clint is quick to explain.

“This is weird, but a good weird? I think” he ends with.

Bucky is smiling at him, one of those big rare ones and Clint’s heart squeezes a bit.

“If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Clint feels himself blush slightly. “I should actually probably go see Shuri real quick just in case there’s anything she needs to check. Wanna come?”

Bucky nods and leaves to let Clint get dressed. Clint throws a hoodie on and swaps one pair of sweatpants for another and considers that good enough.

He grabs his phone so that Shuri can update it with the interface that allows him to control his new implants and checks his text messages.

 **🕷:** _steve and I are headed your way. Should be there in a few days._

Clint finds himself grinning at his phone. He’s missed Nat tremendously.

He types back two thumbs-up emojis just to make her mad and adds “ _got some news to share, can’t wait to see you.”_

He walks out into the living room to meet Bucky and the two of them head to Shuri’s lab.

She checks Clint over and predictably finds no complications. She shows him how to use the app on his phone that allows him to control the sensitivity of the implants and how he can completely shut them off.

As the two of them talk, Bucky walks around the lab looking at the different inventions. He spends some time admiring the prototypes for T’Challa’s new suits. While Clint is busy tapping away at his phone, Shuri comes over.

“How many of these do you make?” he asks, impressed.

“Trust me,” she says. “You don’t want to know the answer to that question.”

Bucky laughs and inspects the table, eyes narrowing in on something specific.

He shoots her a look and her responding grimace means she knows he’s noticed the vibranium arm on the table.

“What is that?” he asks flatly.

“Oh, you know. Just a cybernetic arm made out of vibranium making it practically indestructible. Just something I felt like throwing together.” She tries to sound nonchalant but is clearly nervous about Bucky seeing it.

At this point, Clint has joined them and watches as Bucky reaches out and runs his fingers down the arm.

“I just wanted to make it so you had the option,” Shuri quickly explains. “You don’t ever have to use it, but it’s here. If you want.”

Bucky’s face remains impassive as he lingers on the parts painted red. After a moment he turns to Shuri.

“You think you could repaint this?” he asks. “Change it to purple or somethin'.”

“Purple?” Clint asks, a small smile on his face.

“Yeah,” Bucky shrugs. “Grows on ya.”

* * *

In hindsight, Clint thinks maybe he shouldn’t have been so surprised but at the moment finds himself shocked when Bucky leans over and kisses him, lips soft against his.

They’re sitting outside on the balcony Clint frequents—which is now just as much Bucky’s as his—waiting on Steve and Natasha when it happens.

When Clint doesn’t immediately respond Bucky pulls away and physically shifts his body a few feet away.

“M’sorry,” he mumbles. “I thought you…”

Clint makes a distressed noise.

“Uh no, I _do_. I definitely do, it’s just,” he stops. “What about Steve?”

“Steve?” Bucky asks, confused. “What about Steve?”

Clint clears his throat. “Aren’t you two a thing? I thought you and him.”

Bucky shakes his head quickly. “No we’re not...a thing,” he starts slowly. “We used to be. Before the war, I mean.  And then everything went to shit.”

He pauses, looking out across the grounds.

“We agreed when I came back to myself that that part of us was gone. We’ve both changed so much, it wouldn’t be right to hold each other to the same idea of who we used to be. I can’t expect him to be the same sick Steve I took care of cause he’s not. And he can’t expect me to he “his” version of Bucky. That guy was gone long before I fell off the train.”

“Anyways,” he shrugs, finally looking over at Clint. “I think him and Sam might be “‘a thing.’” He raises his hand in air quotes making Clint chuckle.

“So then we,” Clint says.

“We,” Bucky repeats.

“Get your ass back over here then,” he says. “Because you thought right and I can give you a better first kiss than _that_.”

Bucky’s head snaps up in surprise and he huffs out a laugh before moving back over to Clint. This time he lifts his hand (the flesh one) up to Clint’s face, cupping his cheek. Clint grabs at the base of Bucky’s neck and tangles his fingers in his hair.

This time they both lean in, their lips meeting gently but with purpose. Bucky breaks away first and grins.

“That was technically our second kiss,” he says. “The first one still counts, I think.”

Clint laughs and leans back in for another kiss.

“Well, then that’s three.” Kiss. “Four.” Kiss. “Five” Kiss.

“Six,” Bucky says and deepens the next kiss, tongue tracing along Clint’s bottom lip.

**Author's Note:**

> title is from "half-saved" by luca fogale, a truly beautiful song. i actually have a winterhawk playlist, let me know if you're interested and i can share it!
> 
> thank you for reading!


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